


Sauntering Vaguely Downwards

by GemmaNye



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Friendship, Gen, Heaven, Prequel, Rebellion, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-23 11:40:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19700623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemmaNye/pseuds/GemmaNye
Summary: We all know the story, of Angel and Demon, of Light and Dark, but just as all good things come to an end, they must also start as well.A rebellion brews in Heaven, of which Crowley is a bold participant - they say God is a tyrant, but fail to enquire further into their golden-haired leader known as Lucifer.As you can imagine, things get out of hand very quickly, and before long the Angel Crowley is faced with the largest war in Existence, and his friend Aziraphale is on the wrong side of it.





	1. Sparks

**Heaven - 4005BC**

****

****

**One year, two months and 23 days until The Beginning-ing**

Crowley hurried out of the dark alleyway (well, as dark as any alley or indeed street could be in Heaven), a sinister air of conspiracy about him, his brows furrowed and his white hair concealing half of his face, yet he didn’t find it at all difficult to disappear into the crowd of Angels all busy-bodying their way about to various appointments. They made Crowley want to vomit, what with their charming smiles and unrelenting optimism - it was enough to make even the most level minded human retch, and the humans were still in the prototype stage - far too many fangs and dangly bits to qualify as being God’s greatest creation.

If anyone asked Crowley what he was doing every Thursday afternoon in the Alley (and they were bound to, Angels are adapted to have very long noses, perfect for sticking them into other peoples’ business. Crowley always said that the best way to spread a piece of news is to tell it to an Angel in confidence), he would always give them something vague or uninteresting like he was ‘restringing his lute’ or ‘plucking his wing feathers’, and upon the realisation that nothing juicy was going on, the Angel would quickly move on.

The truth of why Crowley frequented the Alley was in fact very juicy indeed, even for Angel standards. Crowley had, over millennia, realised that he was well and truly sick of this whole righteousness thing. Why follow God? She was just an old bat with a superiority complex - She had grown tired of being adored by Angels, She was now working on humans so She could have yet another species grovelling at Her feet, and Crowley would be damned if God didn’t just forget all about the Angels the second these humans came along. He, and a growing number of Angels, shared this view. Every Thursday, they would gather one by one in the Alley, to be admitted to the rebel base and given a rousing speech by Lucifer himself - which always ending with raucous applause and very unAngelic noise, leaving Crowley with a lifted mood, and the fire of rebellion in his heart.

The golden haired Lucifer, whose piercing eyes and carefree smirk (coupled with his natural charisma), was a natural at this whole rebelling thing, he seemed the only one who was in no way anxious of what would happen if She found out. It was a terrifying thought that dwelt in the mind of every rebel, and not even the most confident could disguise the jittery darting of the eyes that accompanied an especially controversial comment by Lucifer. One had to admire Lucifer for his blind idiocy if for nothing else - no one else in Heaven would be so stupid as to organise a rebellion, yet he was the one who was. And any individuality in Heaven was about as common as a human without any dangly bits.

Crowley entered the elevator at Aziraphale’s office block and began the slow ascent to the one hundredth and forty second floor. The Angel had been offered the ground floor office to avoid this very inconvenience, yet he had smiled graciously and said he ‘preferred the view’ from up there. In Crowley’s opinion, any Angel stupid enough to have a floor number higher than their IQ shouldn’t be given the responsibility to choose in the first place. Well Crowley would think that, given that he had at least twenty minutes of elevator time a day to be resentful about it (and Aziraphale believed that Crowley would in fact be upset should Aziraphale move his office, as then he would have to come up with something else to complain about).

At long last, the ping of the elevator signalled that Crowley had reached his destination. He strode his familiar route past gleaming offices, each with their shining minimalist designs, and he burst into Aziraphale’s. Now, many offices in Heaven have the exact same, gleaming white facade, all of them in fact - except for the one Crowley was now standing in. He wasn’t exactly the type to criticise interior design, but he had heard enough mutterings amongst the other Angels to know that Aziraphale’s choice of decoration wasn’t necessary popular. Where there should have been empty, open space, there was instead Clutter. This was truly a mess of biblical proportions. Stacks of books towered towards the ceiling, and threatened to discorperate any Angel who thought to himself I wonder what would happen if I pulled a book out? (And despite natural selection being a heathen myth etcetera you could see how it at least had a sense of humour). Shelves upon shelves of dusty ornaments covered the walls - this paired with the Angel’s choice of a plush carpet gave the room a quaint atmosphere.

“So, Aziraphale” Crowley directed at the very startled Angel who was seated at his disgustingly large desk “The rebellion - Lucifer says that war could be only weeks if not days away, promise me-“

“A hello would be nice, dear, if it’s not too much to ask” Aziraphale cut him off, holding his hands out in a surrendering motion, and Crowley caught his meaning immediately - Be quiet, the walls have ears (quite literally, in Aziraphale’s case) - and marched to the behemoth of a desk, practically laying flat on it so he could whisper to the other Angel “promise me I won’t have to fight you”

Aziraphale started at Crowley’s sudden intensity and emotion - if he didn’t know the other Angel better he would have thought that he was about to cry or burst into song “You know as well as I do that I’d sooner di.. be discorperated than have to fight you” Aziraphale replied, standing up and rounding the desk so he could speak straight into the other Angel’s ear “and you know as well as I do that I would win” He said, his voice dripping with self-righteousness. At this, Crowley would have made an exclamation referring to male cow excrement, but curse words hadn’t been invented yet (They were in fact invented in 1745BC by Harlem J Profanity, forever remembered as history’s worst role model).

“Rubbish!” Crowley replied instead, scoffing at the thought “No offence, mate, but I’d wipe the floor with you”

“I thought the point of this talk is so we wouldn’t get to see who would win?” Aziraphale responded sharply

“Good point, you never promised me it wouldn’t come to that” Crowley said soberly, backing away from the other Angel

“Look, Crowley, I promise, I’d sooner die than fight you, do you want me to sign my name in blood or something because that can be arranged”

“No, no, it’s fine, although that whole blood thing could be a good business venture once Heaven is liberated. And..uh... by the way Aziraphale” The angel turned around to look at him “I wouldn’t let my side harm you, even after we win, I talked with Lucifer and we worked something out”

“Most reassuring” Aziraphale tutted and turned to look out at the spectacular view “I have the word of the Angel who is making a living by lying to everybody. What could possibly go wrong?”

-———————————————————————

The slam of the door as Crowley left had a frightening ring of finality to it, and Aziraphale almost wished he had said goodbye properly or wished the Angel good luck in the war. What was Crowley thinking? A rebellion against the Almighty? Even for Crowley’s standards this was base - and now his misadventures were going to get him killed.

“For God’s sake!” Aziraphale exclaimed in a rare display of emotion as he slammed both palms onto his desk (which some theoried was large enough to house a small family).

“Yes?” Spoke a disembodied Voice from directly behind Aziraphale, who promptly shot out of his chair and began to sweat profusely

“Umm...uh... nothing your Holiness, ju- just praying for guidance is all” Stammered the panicking Angel

“Aziraphale” the Voice spoke again with an admonishing tone “You are as good a liar as you are an interior designer, but I’ve been meaning to talk to you regardless”

“Oh? I would offer you tea but...” he gestured upwards “you know...”

“Well if you’re offering refreshments, I’d love a biscuit” God said in Her best it’s technically you’re choice but I’ll smite you if you don’t comply voice.

“Absolutely... Lord, anything at all” Aziraphale scrambled for his biscuit tin and remained entirely calm as a custard cream went flying out of the open window of it’s own volition.

“So, Aziraphale, I wish to talk to you about the rebellion.” God said bluntly

“Rebellion? Well, I’ll keep an eye out but I haven’t seen anything you could call particularly rebelli-“

“Do not lie to me, Angel” She didn’t need to raise Her voice to literally instill the fear of God into Aziraphale, who looked ready to collapse.

“There is a rebellion afoot and you know it. The only unknown is what they plan to do and you, Aziraphale, are going to tell me” God’s tone didn’t leave many loopholes for the Angel to wiggle around.

“I have indeed been talking with some... associates-“

“Crowley” God interjected

“Yes, Crowley, but all he has said is that Lucifer is planning a war, he said it could happen within days. They have meetings every Thursday and have a large following, please believe me, truthfully, that is everything” Aziraphale rushed through this and felt emotionally drained, but Crowley hadn’t technically made him promise not to fess everything up to the Almighty, but he was sure that regardless Crowley wouldn’t be best pleased.

“Lucifer? Can’t say I didn’t see this one coming if I’m honest, but even he knows that a war is just too much paperwork. He has backed me into an administrative corner, it will take weeks to finish all of their immigration documents.”

“I beg your pardon, Lord, immigration? Are the rebels going somewhere?” Aziraphale felt oddly concerned about this offhand comment from God, but the Almighty works in mysterious ways etcetera...

“I’m afraid, Angel” God said matter of factly “that such intell is above your pay grade”

And with that the Almighty left, leaving a shaken Angel and a room that was several shades darker than it had been beforehand. Aziraphale sprinted around his desk (no mean feat) and wrenched the up the telephone.

“Miss me already?” Drawled the confident voice of Crowley from the other side

“Listen to me, Crowley, we need to talk”


	2. Embers

I’m going to overlook the fact that you blabbed to the Almighty” Crowley reasoned from the other end of the line “If and when you decide to let me know in which way Her most holy boot is directed”

“Believe me, Crowley, if I knew that you’d already know. I mean...” Aziraphale trailed off, a nasty thought furrowing his brow.

“What? Any bright ideas would be greatly appreciated”

“I mean... She could just... move you to Earth”

“Earth?!” Aziraphale moved the reciever away from his ear so as to not be deafened by this exclamation.

“Let the Almighty know that I’d rather be kicked to death by a haddock.” And with that Crowley slammed down the reciever, and Aziraphale couldn’t really blame him.

Earth - although still in it’s prototype stage, wasn’t exactly any Angel’s dream holiday location. All fire and brimstone, the torched, barren landscape was in no way suitable for these humans that God keeps going on about - clearly this was just a learning experience for God and She would scrap it and progress onto more... sophisticated ventures.

“For... Pete’s sake” Aziraphale said with exasperation “It’s not like he deserves anything less than” he wrinkled his nose “Earth”

If Crowley knew where he was actually destined to be sent, he would have thought that Earth looked like a liquor shop on Black Friday.

———————————————————————

Crowley entered his base of operations (most would call it an office, but Crowley wasn’t most people) and officially the most dingy room in Heaven, with only seven windows in it. Crowley’s role in the ineffable plan, unlike the majority of Angels, had nothing at all to do with the impending Beginning-ing, but was instead the closest to Evil that Heaven would allow within it’s walls - Crowley was on the loan approval committee. Angels would knock on his door, take a seat in The Chair, and pitch a business venture to the committee (The last Angel had been as wet as an otter’s pocket and had requested a small fortune so he could invent something called democracy - it had sounded like a tremendous waste of time so Crowley had sent him packing).

To be perfectly candid, both aspects of his job description were in fact incorrect, since he is the sole chairperson, secretary, treasury and member of the committee, and there was no actual approving of loans going on (but lots of begging and declining so Crowley got along just fine).

Crowley let out a withering groan as he collapsed into his desk chair. “You’re out of your depth” He declared to the room in general, and the windows gave him a sympathetic look “It was all well and good a few months ago, easy enough to have a nice old fashioned moan, but now...” He breathed out heavily through his nose, and put his head in his hands, elbows supported on his very sensibly sized desk. “Now you’ve gone and buggered yourself, haven’t you” Crowley raised his eyes to the small wilted pot plant on his desk, something Aziraphale had said had given him an idea. He wrenched it up and brought it very close to his face “I” He spat “am going for a walk and you” The Angel ripped off a leaf “are going to stop that wilting business whilst I’m away aren’t you? Because” he brandished the leaf violently “there is a lot more where that came from” Crowley dropped the shaking plant down on his desk, and with a menacing stare, took off out of the door.

———————————————————————

“So let me get this straight” The purple eyed Angel said witheringly, pinching the bridge of his nose “You would like to go-“ he gazed down at the papers in front of him “down to Earth?! For an...” he skimmed the stack of papers again “exploratory visit”

“Yes, Gabriel, I did sort of explain this to you earlier,” Crowley said irritably “but I suppose you wish to nit-pick the finer details for dramatic effect” the Angel gave a disingenuous smile to the Archangel who was fixing him with a steely glare.

“What could you possibly wish to do down there? It’s a stinking pit of sulphur and molten lava, rea-“

“I know all about the sulphur and the molten lava it’s all the Almighty ever goes on about” Crowley cut Gabriel off “and do you know what I think? I’ve eaten appetisers with a less appealing description than that so I really don’t see what all the fuss is about”

Gabriel leaned back in his chair, weighing up his options. On the one hand, if he were to let the Angel down there he would likely be permanently discorperated, and the thought of this cheered him up immensely, although there would be so much paperwork - Heaven was so uptight about administration that it was said that one could wander into the Almighty’s file cabinet and simply never return.

“Alright, Crowley, you can go” the Archangel exhaled at last, leaning forward on his desk suddenly so he was face to face with Crowley, who didn’t flinch at their proximity “as long as that means I never see your face again” he spat, purple eyes fixed on the dark ones before him.

“Oh come on, your Holiness” Crowley smirked, having forgotten to blink quite a while ago “I don’t think for one second you wouldn’t miss me” he backed away slightly and winked “deep down” and with this the shorter Angel spun on his heel and marched out of the office, one destination in mind.

-———————————————————————

“Absolutely not!” Aziraphale exclaimed, regarding the Angel who was leaning almost flat against the unholy desk “it’s a stinking p-“

“Stinking pit of sulphur and molten lava, I know” Crowley rolled his eyes “but better there than wherever the hell” he pointed violently upwards “is going to send the lot of us”

“I won’t let you, it’s far too dangerous” he said, his brow creasing into it’s usual anxious expression as he stood up.

“C’mon Aziraphale, face facts” Crowley, who couldn’t be bothered to trek around the entire desk, snapped his fingers and walked straight through it to face the worried Angel. “If I stay and fight in the rebellion then” he pointed again to the ceiling “will kill me, if I stay but don’t fight in the rebellion then Lucifer will kill me, but if I go down to Earth and wait it out then...”

“The sulphur and molten lava will kill you” Aziraphale finished for him, desperately thinking of a way to save his friend.

“Might” Crowley stated matter-of-factly “might kill me”

“Oh for... Heaven’s sake” Aziraphale placed his head in his hands and breathed heavily, and Crowley was very grateful that heart attacks hadn’t been invented yet.

“It’ll be fine, Angel, I’ll be fine”

“No.” Aziraphale said suddenly, lifting his head to stare at the other Angel. “It won’t be fine. Not when you’re gone, Crowley, they’ll want to make and example of the lot of you. Don’t you ever stop to think how your actions affect other people?” He took a step closer and his voice gained intensity “affect me?”

“Nah, you’ll be fine, Aziraphale” Crowley said angrily, “it’s me who’s going to be shipped off to kingdom come! Everything’s just about you, isn’t it Angel?”

“You know that’s not what I mean” Aziraphale blurted out, clearly wounded by his words as he faced out to the window, which took up the entire wall, to hide his emotion “I... I just...”

“What is it?” Crowley said, still annoyed.

“You have no idea what it’s like when you’re not here” he spoke, much quieter than Crowley’s harsh tone. “It’s so... quiet... and depressing”

Crowley looked suitably admonished at this, and met Aziraphale’s eyes sombrely.

“Can’t be that ba-“

“You have no idea, Crowley, have you ever tried to make small talk with Angels? I swear the only way I can guarantee intelligent conversation around here is to talk to... to the wall!” Aziraphale continued, his volume and speed increasing “they’re all just stuck up busybodies who further their own causes under the guise of the ineffable plan, they have no respect for themselves or each other and sometimes I just get so...” he trailed off “lonely”

“That” Crowley turned to look out at the expanses of Heaven “sounds like someone Lucifer would come out with”

“No, Crowley” Aziraphale said exasperatedly, stepping towards the other Angel so that their shoulders were touching “I just can’t join you, you know I can’t”

“Can’t think why I expected anything different” Crowley spoke slowly, meeting Aziraphale’s eyes for a long moment before he strode off, snapping his fingers as he walked through the behemoth of a desk. “I’m off to Earth, Angel. Would invite you but couldn’t disrupt the ineffable plan.” He called maliciously before he slammed the door, which was quite shocked, having been accustomed to the polite touch of Aziraphale’s faultlessly manicured hands.

Crowley stormed out of the office block an excruciatingly long elevator ride later, and melded seamlessly into the throng of Angels all hurrying about to their post-lunch meetings (an Angel’s schedule regularly being so packed that they must factor in extra meals to accommodate it). He then traced the familiar route through the towering blocks to his own grotty building.

As he continued left right right left straight left, the masses eventually became crowds, then gaggles, then pedestrians, with the number dwindling further until it was just him, weaving deeper and darker between shorter and shorter buildings. Finally, Crowley approached his office, his temper cooled somewhat and the start of what felt like remorse creeping into his consciousness. He was so engrossed in thought that he failed to notice something that would make even the most naive Angel a tad suspicious, and Crowley would think that the trees were plotting against him if one of them looked at him oddly. The door at the end of the narrow alleyway approaching Crowley’s office was slightly ajar, and a narrow sliver of silver light cut into the shadowy alley.

It was only when the Angel reached out to turn the door handle did he realise something was wrong - very wrong. Crowley never forgot to lock up, it was to avoid the occupational hazards of being one of the most hated beings in Heaven (well, strongly disliked).

“Oh shi-“ Crowley began before he felt a sickening blow strike his right temple, plunging his world into blackness. His kidnappers would later converse, sharing in the quite peculiar phrase their hostage repeated in his sleep. They were kidnappers so they were very much versed in the usual mutterings “mummy”, “ow” and “ngth” being amongst the most common, but this one was unlike anything they’d ever heard.

Again and again, over and over, the Angel would just say “Ziraphale... Aziraphale... ziraphale”


	3. Flames

**Somewhere in the Rebel Base - 4005BC**

**One year, two months and 22 days until The Beginning-ing**

The Angel awoke with a start, his ears ringing and his body completely disorientated. A piercing light stung his eyes, which were narrowed as he squinted desperately at the scene before him. After several minutes of sensory assault, he began to make out fuzzy shapes and colours. Crowley didn’t want to admit it but it felt very similar to the last time he and Aziraphale had gone out drinking.

“Rebel Crowley” A voice boomed suddenly. It was deep, rolling, and seemed to demand something just by it’s very presence. “The time has come”

“I’m sorry, I may have misunderstood you through my concussion, the time for what exactly?” Crowley groaned, his head feeling like it could burst - he was in far too much pain to fully appreciate the fact that he had been kidnapped in broad daylight.

“The time for war” it said simply, but the implications of this statement were not lost on Crowley.

“Woah woah... woa... war?” He felt a feeling of nausea wash over him “I... thought it would be days, weeks even”

“We are lucky, Crowley, for the glorious day has nearly come” he could sense the voice grin, and through his foggy mind he began to notice - the voice was... uncomfortably familiar.

“You know, you could really just have asked nicely and I’d have shown up before you could... swing a cat” Crowley lifted a hand to his aching forehead, and came to realise he was sat in a chair, and not a particularly comfortable one at that. “But I suppose you wanted to bring in the divine hit squad?” The Angel rolled his eyes, he would bet money that this had been Hastur’s idea - the sickly looking worm had always hated Crowley, who decided that the moment their rebellious camaraderie came to end, he would go back to avoiding him at all costs.

“We have our methods, Crowley. They haven’t failed us before and they haven’t done so now”

“Lucifer” Crowley said plainly, more of a statement of fact than an inquiry, since his hazy brain had taken this long to fit the pieces together.

“Indeed, I trust that Hastur and Ligur weren’t too rough with you when they brought you in?” The voice boomed, sounding vaguely interested at best - an attempt at the rebellion leader version of small talk.

Crowley lowered his eyes to his survey the damage, and even through his blurred vision he could still make out the patches of purple which decorated his forearms. Despite the pain and distress this caused, the Angel was still proud that Hastur was as predictable as he thought he was.

“Oh I’m fine... supreme leader... nothing a minor miracle won’t fix” Crowley rushed, making a mental note to kill Hastur the next time he saw the bastard.

“I will summon you and the other rebels when the time is right, until then, rest and heal, for soon you will fight, and the tyranny of God shall be over”

“Sound good to me... see you then, Lucifer” The Angel managed, feeling like he would pass out any moment. Suddenly, it felt like a weight had been lifted off him, and he sensed that Lucifer had left. Crowley began to breathe deeply, his throat hoarse and his vision fading (now he was certain - this was exactly like the last time he had gone out drinking with Aziraphale). Then, with a deep breath, he extended a shaking arm and, with all of the strength left in his being, snapped his fingers.

The effect was instantaneous and as welcome as an antacid at an all you can eat buffet. Crowley sighed deeply, his head clearing and his pain trickling away. Now with perfect vision, he lowered his pale eyes to his forearms, to see the bruises disappearing in little puffs of purple smoke. He lifted his head back, then shifted it from side to side slowly, feeling his neck crack beautifully - Crowley didn’t think he had felt quite this euphoric since he had come up with the concept of call centres (hives of desperation and depravity that rivaled Gabriel on a good day).

Now that he could think clearly, Crowley’s mind edged reluctantly to one thought - Aziraphale. Crowley has never been a massive worrier, he’d left that job to every other Angel in Heaven, primarily his closest friend, who could hardly even leave his office without checking six times that he had his keys. But he was certainly worried now - if he was being dragged in to fight then Aziraphale definitely was as well, and he quite literally couldn’t hurt a fly, and tended to apologise to inanimate objects that he bumped into. In a nutshell, the Angel would last as long as an ice cube in the desert in any war.

Crowley began to look around, and saw that he was sat in the centre of a room, a large one, high above the ground with a wall of glass and a floor that he could see his face in. He stood quickly, and marched over to the door, a mere patch of wall that only stood out by a gleaming silver door handle. Crowley reached out for it, wanting to free himself of the inexplicable notion that he was a prisoner in this eye-wateringly bright room. But then, as his hand hovered centimetres above it, his whole body froze in place. The Angel wanted to snap his fingers, to shout or blink, yet he suddenly found these simple tasks to be quite impossible. Then, a sensation of immense weight washed over Crowley, a feeling of heaviness that he was sickeningly accustomed to.

“Rebel Crowley” Lucifer ordered suddenly “I think it would be better if you were to stay until further instruction” his words were not an opinion, or a suggestion, they were law. Crowley felt the air being knocked out of him as he was flung, with incredible speed, at the opposite wall. But the pain only lasted a moment before everything went black.

———————————————————————

**Crowley’s Office - 4005BC**

**One year, two months and 15 days until The Beginning-ing**

“Crowley?” An increasingly worried voice called out “Crowley?” Aziraphale went at top speed from room to room (not particularly fast by any standards), scanning them for the third time, the only slightly suspicious occurrence was the pot plant on Crowley’s desk, which now had infested the room to the point it that it rather resembled a jungle instead of the grotty office that was habitual, but Aziraphale rather liked it.

The Angel felt his anxiety rise despite himself - he had promised not to care, not to be bothered that his friend had disappeared, but if he was being honest, Aziraphale thought that Crowley’s intention of going to Earth had been an empty threat. But now he was gone and was probably already dead.

Aziraphale collapsed into his friend’s chair and took a deep breath, the air heavy with vegetation. He closed his eyes and pictured his friend - his sharp features, his spiked hair and slightly manic eyes. Aziraphale knew he was being sentimental, and he also knew that Crowley would have the perfect little quip ready to take the mickey, but the Angel couldn’t blame him - he was just soft.

“Okay, Aziraphale” he said to himself, trying to ground his thoughts “Crowley’s gone and he’s probably dead but-“ The Angel stood, pacing round the desk whilst trying not to trip over the vines which covered the pale floor “he might not be” he then travelled to the far wall, tearing down the masses of foliage that concealed it. Underneath, as he had expected, were dozens of pictures, maps, and articles, most seemingly depicting Earth and it’s topography, and some were panoramic shots of some nebulae that Crowley had helped build before he had been corrupted by this rebellion business.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and they all flew off the wall, the pins that kept them in place dissolving instantly. The yellowed papers surrounded the Angel, suspending themselves neatly in midair - it was only now that Aziraphale noticed the sheer quantity of them. He idly wondered quite how long Crowley had been planning to travel down to Earth, since some of these plans seemed decades old. The Angel stood in the centre of the room, scanning the papers with supernatural speed before discarding them with a swipe of his hand.

Aziraphale paused, taking in a picture of a stunning elliptical galaxy for longer than he really had time for - Crowley possessed a quality that was almost entirely unique in Heaven - an imagination. He would never admit it, but Aziraphale felt that creating and shaping the universe had been the one thing that had ever brought his friend true joy. And God knows he was good at it, as Aziraphale stared at the image, he was truly gobsmacked at the care and attention to detail Crowley had put into it and, for the first time in millennia, the Angel truly thought he could cry. It was all just so unfair, Crowley didn’t deserve any of this, he deserved to be doing what he loved, free from all of this, and any ineffable plan that said otherwise wasn’t worth believing in.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind, focusing solely on his task when he opened them again - he needed to figure out quite where his friend had gone off to, and desperately hoped it was as volcano free as possible (not very, considering that Earth was about 95% volcano in it’s current prototype).

After several minutes of straight searching, the Angel’s brief flash of hope had begun to dwindle, to be replaced by a bubble of anxiety that got stuck in his throat. Aziraphale sighed and ran his fingers once through his white hair - it had been over a week since Crowley had stormed out of his office and he was becoming seriously concerned, not just that his friend was dead, but also that his friend’s last memory of him would have been... disappointment... or anger... and this stung Aziraphale probably most of all. But he was not going to give up hope - he would find Crowley, even if it took him straight into the war.

———————————————————————

**Hey guys, Gemma here, this chapter was knocking on for about 4K words, and you know that nobody got time to read that, so I’ve just cut it in half, second half is coming very soon and is more dramatic than an episode of Eastenders wrapped around a stick of dynamite (pretty damn dramatic). Thanks so much for reading, be sure to kudos and comment and I hope you enjoy - Gemma x ******


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